


The Best A Man Can Get

by gimmefire



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Beards (Facial Hair), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:25:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rob has a beard. Felipe doesn't like it. Yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best A Man Can Get

**Author's Note:**

> The song featured is [O Meu Amor](www.youtube.com/watch?v=txLPlvkGiP4) by Chico Buarque; thanks to cutesbela for the help! Unbetad.

Felipe is not being subtle. In fact, it seems like he's being deliberately _un_ subtle. Since the moment he flopped down opposite Rob, sprawled and restless and indifferently eating a yoghurt, he has been staring at his engineer, despite said engineer doing his best to ignore him and focus on the magazine he's trying to read. Unfortunately Felipe becomes even less subtle when he opens his mouth.

"When are you going to..." he doesn't dignify his arch question with an ending, choosing instead to waggle his spoon at Rob. Indicatively.

"When am I going to what, Phillip?" Rob asks airily without looking up. He's fairly sure he knows what Felipe meant.

"Has been so long since I see you," Felipe wheedles, sinking to rest his chin on the table, no doubt in the hope of catching Rob's eye. "So long since I see the line of your jaw, the dip in your chin, the curve of your neck..." He pushes his yoghurt aside and starts to tap out a rhythm on the table. " _O meuuuu amoooor...teeeem um jeeeito manso que é só seuuu, que me deixa maluuuca, quando me roça a nuca e quase me machuuuuca--_ "

"Don't sing," Rob interrupts without looking up, though he doesn't hide his grin.

"I sing for you!" Felipe protests. "I sing for your beautiful face to maybe come back..."

Rob finally looks up from his magazine. If he wore glasses, he'd be peering over them, lines across his forehead as he lifts his eyebrows and gives Felipe a pointed look.

" _Lucy likes it,_ " he says slowly and emphatically, in an end-of-story, this-is-not-negotiable way, " _So stop whingeing._ "

This is far from the first time in recent weeks that Felipe has made a negative reference to Rob's beard, but it _is_ the first time he's been so direct about it. Now, Felipe holds up his hands in begrudging defeat, slumping back in his chair. "Okay, okay..."

Though he feels those dark eyes still on him, Rob is blessed with a minute or so of silence for him to finish that one paragraph he's been reading over and over since Felipe walked in, all bored and mischievous and _distracting_.

"Maybe I grow a beard."

It feels like a short minute.

Rob chuckles. "Oh yeah?"

"Is not a joke!" Felipe contends, eyebrows raised. He rubs along his jaw with his thumb and forefinger, lifting his head quite haughtily. "Maybe Raffa will like, no?"

"Ah, but maybe she'll like mine more..."

Felipe merely snorts and wags his finger at the very suggestion.

"'Oh, Rob," Rob coos in a confusing and, frankly, terrible Brazilio-Boro accent. " _meu amor_ try this, is so much more manly on you--'" He ducks, grinning widely as something goes sailing past his head. From the metallic sound it makes when it clatters along the floor, Rob guesses it was Felipe's spoon.

Concluding that he isn't going to get much reading done with Felipe around anyway, Rob flips his magazine shut and leans across the table, voice dropping low.

"So why don't I show you one of the things Lucy likes about it?"

Felipe stares at him in vivid confusion for a few seconds before the penny drops. He's seen that twinkle in blue eyes more than enough times to know what might be imminent. But, to his credit, he plays it cool, shrugging and letting his gaze slide away. "I am very jet-lag, maybe I fall asleep…"

Rob slopes up, all languid and smooth in his movements to effortlessly draw Felipe's eye again. He doesn't respond beyond a chuckle until he's behind the other man, bending to murmur in his ear. "You won't," he says, promising the world in just two words. He straightens, then bends again to deliver a rhetorical question to Felipe's other ear. "How ticklish are you, again?"

Felipe can only manage a bashful grin, skritching the skin of his neck where lips just grazed.

 

Later, in Felipe's private room in the motorhome, it turns out that he _is_ quite ticklish. Maybe it's the sense of anticipation, the slow burn, that heightens it, or maybe it's just that Rob knows exactly how and when to push his buttons.

He is stretched out open as he reclines, muscular arms raised above his head, for Rob's mouth to track meaningless patterns across his bared flesh. His breath hitches, muscles jumping as a kiss is grazed below his ribs; he feels warm breath bloom over his stomach when Rob laughs softly at his reaction. But lips are barely a factor in his kisses; they are the softest of brushes of skin on skin, while the prickle and scratch of hair are what really seize Felipe's attention, making him gasp and squirm and whine, making him moan and arch when Rob's chin grazes his exposed cock. The kisses themselves are _secondary_.

It is at its most acute when Rob's head is between his thighs and his mouth is wet and warm and wicked, and every spasm that crackles through Felipe's leg muscles has Rob's furred cheeks sending waves of intense stimulation across his sensitised skin. He tips his head back with a soft, enraptured moan, closing his eyes and letting the sensations wash over him.

 

"Fucking 'ell..." Felipe groans when he catches his reflection a little while later. There's a very prominent blotch of reddened skin down the side of his neck, one which he'd have to wear a scarf to fully cover. Rob appears behind him, himself flushed pink from exertion, and sucks air through his teeth in a hiss as he pulls his shirt down over his head.

"Now that's one thing Lucy _doesn't_ like about it," he confesses, only a mote of apology in his tone. When Felipe runs his fingertips over sore flesh - he'd have to hope his racesuit and HANS device wouldn't aggravate it - Rob becomes a little more helpful. "I've got some cream in my bag that'll help."

He dips his head and kisses the edge of the blotch, a full, tender kiss unlike the feather light touches of before, and Felipe groans again, wincing a little. The way he reaches up to cup the back of Rob's head as he does so, however, indicates that he doesn't exactly dislike the feeling.

The cream Rob provides does help, as does his careful application. Not only to the beard burn on his neck, either; there's one on his stomach, and on his thighs, and...


End file.
